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With ruffled plumage, and with alter'd eyes, His careless short replies, And to their couplets, coldness or neglect Had made his gentle wife suspect, All was not right; but she forbore to teaze him, Which would but give him an excuse to rove: She therefore tried by every art to please him, Endur'd his peevish starts with patient love, And when (like other husbands from a tavern) Of his new notions full, he sought his cavern She with dissembled cheerfulness, "beguiled "The thing she was," and gaily coo-ed and smiled. 'Tis not in this most motley sphere uncommon, For man, (and so of course more feeble woman) Most strongly to suspect, what they're pursuing Will lead them to inevitable ruin,